Angst Meme Fill - The Clothes
Fill for this prompt over at the Angst Meme.
I bashed this out in about a half hour, without being able to find any reference pictures of Puck in the dress he wore for 3.21, so apologies if I got it wrong. Also, I like to think this proves that I am, in fact, not dead.
-
He had always known it wasn't normal. It was weird, unnatural, something to hide from his friends and his mother and pretty much the whole wide world. When you're five years old and trying to walk in your mother's high heel shoes it's funny, when you're ten, or thirteen, eighteen, it's something shameful. At least if you're a boy.
His sister, Marie, was ten years old and already had two pairs of heels. Not very high. Sensible heels intended for special ocassions and birthday parties. They're not like the single pair of bright red fuck-me heels that Puck has hidden at the top of his closet in an old adidas box. They're a little boring, really. But the point is Marie got to go out and buy them with their mother, out in public, and she got to wear them outside the house. It was socially acceptable for a ten year old girl to like dressing up in heels.
It was not socially acceptable for Puck to enjoy heels. Or dresses. Or flowing tiered skirts and blouses with patterns stitched in tiny metallic threads. He kept those things in a battered old suitcase under his bed and wore mens jeans and tshirts instead. He only ever wore the dresses and skirts in his room, when his mother was at work and there was no chance any of his friends would drop by unexpectedly.
Marie knew, of course. It was impossible to keep things like that from too-smart ten year olds with the inherited Puckerman tenacity.
She'd walked in on him once when he'd thought she was staying the night at a friend's house. She'd just barrelled right into his room without knocking and caught him standing in front of the mirror in his favourite light green skirt and indian patterned blouse, contemplating the dark brown wig he'd stolen from some hair place in Columbus a few weeks before.
Puck had been horrified. Too shocked to even yell at her he'd just stood there with a stupid look on his face, watching Marie's mouth drop open and her eyes go wide. Eventually he'd found his voice, though he hated to remember the way it had squeaked when he told her to get out. He'd had to push her out the door, she wouldn't go on her own. Then he'd slammed the door and thrown the wig into a corner and freaked the hell out wondering how he was going to explain this to their mom. He'd been sure that it was the end of the world, that when his mom came home Marie would tell her and he'd wind up disowned.
Which is why he'd been twice as shocked when Marie crept into his room an hour later (no locks on the bedrooms in the Puckerman household) and apologised.
"I like your skirt," she told him quietly, glancing at it where it lay crumpled on the floor, Puck himself now dressed in sweats and curled up on his bed. "It's pretty. And the top was nice too."
"Go away." It came out about ten times less vicious than he'd intended.
Marie sat down on the edge of the bed, chewing her bottom lip. "So... are you like...?"
"No." The denial came out harsh and quick. He knew what she was asking, and it wasn't like that. "I just... I like the clothes. That's all."
"So you don't want to be a girl?"
"No."
"...why not?"
The question was so genuine, as if Marie were really wondering why on earth anyone would choose to be a boy if they could be a girl, that Puck had laughed. The conversation had gotten easier after that. Marie hadn't told their mother either, something Puck was still grateful for.
Glee changed things, like it always did. The club, the singing, the people. It had a habit of getting him to do things he wouldn't have thought about before, getting to know people he used to think he hated or envied, getting him to participate. It was dumb, but he knew he'd grown as a person. He'd watched other people - his friends - get bullied, break down, pull through, pick on each other and then stand up for each other when it counted. He, like everyone else, had come to view the Glee club as a safe space. A place he could speak his mind without worrying that someone would laugh at him or call him a loser (except Santana, but he figured she didn't count since she called everyone a loser, even herself when she thought nobody was listening).
So when it came up, the Unique thing, the crossdressing thing, Puck had sort of thought of it as an opportunity.
He could see why everyone expected Kurt to do it, he thought to himself as he sorted through his pretty clothes for something that he could change into easily in the bathrooms at school, or something he could wear under his normal clothes. He'd never say it to Kurt's face but the guy was effeminate. Which is why it sort of made sense that Kurt would say never in a million years and the masculine jock would secretly love to wear a dress on stage. In the end Puck settled on a short green dress that he could thrown on before glee, along with a blonde marilyn wig that was much more portable than his favourite long brunette wig. He'd have loved to wear the shoes as well, but how the heck would he explain having those if this went wrong?
And it went wrong.
It went so wrong.
He should have expected the reaction. Really he could tell from the moment he walked in the door to the choir room and saw the way everyone looked. Puck could tell just from the wry twist of Quinn's lips that she thought he looked ridiculous. Even Mr. Schue just looked exasperated. So he cracked a joke, using the first female name that came to mind (Lola? What was he even thinking?), and hid the way it hurt.
He didn't let it out until later. Much later. Sitting in his room with his suitcase full of clothes in front of him. Thinking about his broad shoulders and the way it was hard to find things that fit right. He knew he looked like a freak in that dress. Something funny, something hilarious and unreal. Puck looked like a freak when he wore womens clothes, but he just couldn't help that it felt so much better wearing those things than it did in mens clothes. Women got the nice things. They got fabrics that felt so good you just wanted to keep stroking the material. They got all the colours and shades of the rainbow. They got to wear things designed to look and feel beautiful, when by comparison Puck's 'normal' clothes felt drab and boring. And worst of all, if a woman wanted to wear pants and a t-shirt nobody would call her gay and assume she wanted to be a man.
"Noah?" Marie's voice called through his door. "Someone's at the door for you..."
"Whatever. Tell them to go away. I'm not here."
"...I already let them in."
He hissed a swear word through his teeth, not quite loud enough for her to hear which one it was.
"Actually, they're here. At your bedroom door. So..."
A sudden bolt of panic hit Puck somewhere in his gut. "Marie. Don't you dare open the door."
By the time he finished saying door it was already too late. The door had swung open and his visitor was revealed. Standing there slightly awkward in the hallway, clearly able to see Puck and his hidden trove of soft, pretty clothes.
"I thought..." The boy in the hallway began. "You might need a friend to talk to." He took a step forward, shiny loafers out of place on the threadbare carpet. "You hid it really well but I saw the way your face changed as you walked into the room and saw us all. Puck..."
"I don't want to be girl," Puck said drily, "and I'm not secretly gay."
Kurt gave him a slightly sarcastic smile. "I never said you were. I think your long line of girlfriends and one night stands is proof enough of your straightness. Just the one girlfriend would have sufficed if you were trying to hide anything. Nobody would put themselves through that much of something they didn't enjoy."
"So why are you here?"
"Like I said. I thought you might need a friend to talk to."
Puck looked away, accidentally bringing the suitcase back into his line of sight. He thought about the unfairness of what men were expected to wear, about colours and fabrics and the way he secretly liked the look of long hair around his face. He looked back at Kurt, the only boy he knew who could wear an entirely pink suit and not be afraid to show his face in public.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I'd like that."
I bashed this out in about a half hour, without being able to find any reference pictures of Puck in the dress he wore for 3.21, so apologies if I got it wrong. Also, I like to think this proves that I am, in fact, not dead.
-
He had always known it wasn't normal. It was weird, unnatural, something to hide from his friends and his mother and pretty much the whole wide world. When you're five years old and trying to walk in your mother's high heel shoes it's funny, when you're ten, or thirteen, eighteen, it's something shameful. At least if you're a boy.
His sister, Marie, was ten years old and already had two pairs of heels. Not very high. Sensible heels intended for special ocassions and birthday parties. They're not like the single pair of bright red fuck-me heels that Puck has hidden at the top of his closet in an old adidas box. They're a little boring, really. But the point is Marie got to go out and buy them with their mother, out in public, and she got to wear them outside the house. It was socially acceptable for a ten year old girl to like dressing up in heels.
It was not socially acceptable for Puck to enjoy heels. Or dresses. Or flowing tiered skirts and blouses with patterns stitched in tiny metallic threads. He kept those things in a battered old suitcase under his bed and wore mens jeans and tshirts instead. He only ever wore the dresses and skirts in his room, when his mother was at work and there was no chance any of his friends would drop by unexpectedly.
Marie knew, of course. It was impossible to keep things like that from too-smart ten year olds with the inherited Puckerman tenacity.
She'd walked in on him once when he'd thought she was staying the night at a friend's house. She'd just barrelled right into his room without knocking and caught him standing in front of the mirror in his favourite light green skirt and indian patterned blouse, contemplating the dark brown wig he'd stolen from some hair place in Columbus a few weeks before.
Puck had been horrified. Too shocked to even yell at her he'd just stood there with a stupid look on his face, watching Marie's mouth drop open and her eyes go wide. Eventually he'd found his voice, though he hated to remember the way it had squeaked when he told her to get out. He'd had to push her out the door, she wouldn't go on her own. Then he'd slammed the door and thrown the wig into a corner and freaked the hell out wondering how he was going to explain this to their mom. He'd been sure that it was the end of the world, that when his mom came home Marie would tell her and he'd wind up disowned.
Which is why he'd been twice as shocked when Marie crept into his room an hour later (no locks on the bedrooms in the Puckerman household) and apologised.
"I like your skirt," she told him quietly, glancing at it where it lay crumpled on the floor, Puck himself now dressed in sweats and curled up on his bed. "It's pretty. And the top was nice too."
"Go away." It came out about ten times less vicious than he'd intended.
Marie sat down on the edge of the bed, chewing her bottom lip. "So... are you like...?"
"No." The denial came out harsh and quick. He knew what she was asking, and it wasn't like that. "I just... I like the clothes. That's all."
"So you don't want to be a girl?"
"No."
"...why not?"
The question was so genuine, as if Marie were really wondering why on earth anyone would choose to be a boy if they could be a girl, that Puck had laughed. The conversation had gotten easier after that. Marie hadn't told their mother either, something Puck was still grateful for.
Glee changed things, like it always did. The club, the singing, the people. It had a habit of getting him to do things he wouldn't have thought about before, getting to know people he used to think he hated or envied, getting him to participate. It was dumb, but he knew he'd grown as a person. He'd watched other people - his friends - get bullied, break down, pull through, pick on each other and then stand up for each other when it counted. He, like everyone else, had come to view the Glee club as a safe space. A place he could speak his mind without worrying that someone would laugh at him or call him a loser (except Santana, but he figured she didn't count since she called everyone a loser, even herself when she thought nobody was listening).
So when it came up, the Unique thing, the crossdressing thing, Puck had sort of thought of it as an opportunity.
He could see why everyone expected Kurt to do it, he thought to himself as he sorted through his pretty clothes for something that he could change into easily in the bathrooms at school, or something he could wear under his normal clothes. He'd never say it to Kurt's face but the guy was effeminate. Which is why it sort of made sense that Kurt would say never in a million years and the masculine jock would secretly love to wear a dress on stage. In the end Puck settled on a short green dress that he could thrown on before glee, along with a blonde marilyn wig that was much more portable than his favourite long brunette wig. He'd have loved to wear the shoes as well, but how the heck would he explain having those if this went wrong?
And it went wrong.
It went so wrong.
He should have expected the reaction. Really he could tell from the moment he walked in the door to the choir room and saw the way everyone looked. Puck could tell just from the wry twist of Quinn's lips that she thought he looked ridiculous. Even Mr. Schue just looked exasperated. So he cracked a joke, using the first female name that came to mind (Lola? What was he even thinking?), and hid the way it hurt.
He didn't let it out until later. Much later. Sitting in his room with his suitcase full of clothes in front of him. Thinking about his broad shoulders and the way it was hard to find things that fit right. He knew he looked like a freak in that dress. Something funny, something hilarious and unreal. Puck looked like a freak when he wore womens clothes, but he just couldn't help that it felt so much better wearing those things than it did in mens clothes. Women got the nice things. They got fabrics that felt so good you just wanted to keep stroking the material. They got all the colours and shades of the rainbow. They got to wear things designed to look and feel beautiful, when by comparison Puck's 'normal' clothes felt drab and boring. And worst of all, if a woman wanted to wear pants and a t-shirt nobody would call her gay and assume she wanted to be a man.
"Noah?" Marie's voice called through his door. "Someone's at the door for you..."
"Whatever. Tell them to go away. I'm not here."
"...I already let them in."
He hissed a swear word through his teeth, not quite loud enough for her to hear which one it was.
"Actually, they're here. At your bedroom door. So..."
A sudden bolt of panic hit Puck somewhere in his gut. "Marie. Don't you dare open the door."
By the time he finished saying door it was already too late. The door had swung open and his visitor was revealed. Standing there slightly awkward in the hallway, clearly able to see Puck and his hidden trove of soft, pretty clothes.
"I thought..." The boy in the hallway began. "You might need a friend to talk to." He took a step forward, shiny loafers out of place on the threadbare carpet. "You hid it really well but I saw the way your face changed as you walked into the room and saw us all. Puck..."
"I don't want to be girl," Puck said drily, "and I'm not secretly gay."
Kurt gave him a slightly sarcastic smile. "I never said you were. I think your long line of girlfriends and one night stands is proof enough of your straightness. Just the one girlfriend would have sufficed if you were trying to hide anything. Nobody would put themselves through that much of something they didn't enjoy."
"So why are you here?"
"Like I said. I thought you might need a friend to talk to."
Puck looked away, accidentally bringing the suitcase back into his line of sight. He thought about the unfairness of what men were expected to wear, about colours and fabrics and the way he secretly liked the look of long hair around his face. He looked back at Kurt, the only boy he knew who could wear an entirely pink suit and not be afraid to show his face in public.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I'd like that."